


as long as we're going down (baby, you should stick around)

by homelesshats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Depressed Louis, Drug Use, M/M, Verbal/Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homelesshats/pseuds/homelesshats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis’ always been Zayn’s other half, but since they moved in together, Zayn has acted distant and moody. Harry is his hot new neighbor. Louis is pretty sure he can figure everything out on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as long as we're going down (baby, you should stick around)

**Author's Note:**

> oh goodness, hello! just wanted to say a few things before you start to read! 
> 
> firstly, i'd like to thank the mods at 1d-bigbang for hosting this for another year, because they've been so good with all of this. i'd also like to give thanks to [madison](http://spencercharnas.tumblr.com), for a prompt she made for this a loooooong time ago, and [sam](http://captainodinson.tumblr.com), for being one of my best friends and the best beta i could’ve asked for. and, last but certainly not least, thank you to [ivy](http://adevyish.livejournal.com), for making the amazing [art and mix](http://adevyish.livejournal.com/258094.html) to go along with this fic (it's so good, seriously). 
> 
> secondly, to address the, erm, seriousness of this fic, please direct your attention to the warnings above. you'll notice that there are definitely some topics in this fic that can be triggering (anxiety, depression, bullying/assault, abuse, and drug use). if you have a problem with these things, i strongly suggest you to not read this fic. read at your own risk, and all that.
> 
> and lastly, thank you to /you/, for choosing to read this. it's taken me months to finish this fic, rewrite after rewrite after rewrite, and i think i'm genuinely happy with the way it's turned out. (and help yourself to my other fics, if you'd like *wink wink*). also, come say hello on [tumblr](http://officerstyles.tumblr.com)! anyways, enjoy!

\---

There’s a stale sort of feeling settled into Louis’ stomach as he lies down on the carpet of his and Zayn’s apartment, his eyes focused on the ceiling fan whirring above him. He’s not sure when the feeling embedded itself in him, but it seems to always be there anymore, making itself known whenever Louis tries to forget about it. The last time he felt completely alive is so long ago that he barely remembers it.

Zayn left about an hour ago. Louis knows what he’s doing, but he pretends not to. It makes the feeling inside of him smaller; makes him feel less dead.

They met when he was eleven; Zayn was a year younger, though he didn’t act it. They lived in the same complex, with their single mothers and multiple sisters, in the center of town, surrounded by tall buildings and other apartments. Louis used to go to the park on days when he wanted to get out of the apartment after school. It was situated about a block from their back porch, and most days there weren’t enough kids there to disturb him. But on some days, a group of older boys roused the younger kids from the park, claiming it for themselves.

One afternoon, after Louis had gotten his schoolwork done and asked his mother’s permission to go to the park, Louis perched himself up on one of the swings, his perky self oblivious to the group of older boys watching him.

“Get up,” one of the boys had told Louis as he’d begun to pump his legs back and forth. But, being the stubborn boy he was, he stayed seated on the swing he’d been sitting on for less than twenty seconds. ”Are you deaf or somethin’?” The boy demanded as he stepped closer, pushing Louis. It was only a small shove, and Louis bit down on the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flared and his eyes set on the bigger boy in front of him. No way was he giving up his swing.

“Get. Up,” The boy said in a rougher tone, then shoved Louis so hard that he fell off of the back of the swing’s seat, his legs still caught on it with his back on the grass.

The group of boys, gathered on top of the playground set in odd places, some sitting on the slide and others leaning against poles, laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

“Hey!” A voice called then, like a superhero come to Louis’ rescue, “He had that swing first.”

A boy, small in size and tan, his dark hair matching the dark brown of his eyes, sauntered over to the swing, and Louis was only a bit in awe by the authority the boy carried with him, though he was noticeably smaller than the large boy in front of him.

“Were you talking to me, pipsqueak?” The large boy asked in a low tone, looking like his face was rapidly getting redder and redder with anger.

The tan boy, with his hands in his pockets, tilted his chin up challengingly. “Yeah. And I said he had that swing first,” the small boy raised an expectant eyebrow when the older boy did nothing, “What? Are you deaf or somethin’?” He mocked, a tiny, satisfied grin settling onto his lips.

The older boy swung his fist, and it came hard and fast toward the tan boy, but when no sound but swishing air came, Louis looked on, shocked, as the smaller boy managed to kick the legs out from under the large boy, and suddenly, the bigger boy was on his back, just like Louis.

Ever since then, Louis’ been unable to detach himself from Zayn.

 

–

 

After a few years, when Louis had already celebrated his thirteenth birthday and Zayn was just about to turn twelve, Zayn and Louis began to delve away from the normality of the other boys at school. Louis had always been told he was feminine — he loved theatre and dressing up in his sisters’ clothing when they would perform plays for their mother, sometimes he’d even put a bit of eyeliner on when his mother would help him — and though he was too young at the time to tell what he liked, he knew he thought boys were cute. Girls were cute, too, just… not in the same way.

Zayn, though, had always been taught to be a protector; to defend girls and guys alike, and he was less open to the idea of being attracted to the same gender. But with Louis, he knew. It was always as simple as that for him.

That year was a trial period for them. He and Zayn proclaimed to be dating, though they were only walking through neighborhoods holding each other’s hands and maybe, on rare occasions, kissing each other’s cheeks. They were both too scared to fully make a move, afraid to cross a line or take a step in the wrong direction.

It wasn’t so much that they knew they liked each other, or that they had hopes of falling in love. It was only because they were always together, anyway, and neither of them had any interest in the snobby, petulant girls at their school. So, to them, there was no difference in them being a couple; they practically were already.

“Do you think the kids at school think we’re weird?” Louis had asked one night at Zayn’s house, the two of them locked in his room, eating junk food and playing video games until one in the morning.

Zayn shrugged, as he usually did, and zapped one of the zombies onscreen, “Who cares?” He muttered, pursing his lips with his tongue between them as he shot with concentration while staring at the screen in front of them. “If they do, fuck ‘em.”

“Zayn!” Louis guffawed, pausing the game and turning to look at Zayn with wide eyes, “You know how your mum feels about cursing!”

Zayn gave Louis a smirk and simply looked around his bedroom for a moment, “Do you see my mum anywhere?”

“No?” Louis’ eyebrows furrowed.

“Then what’s the problem?” He scoffed, seeming pretentious and arrogant, even at the age of twelve.

With a pout and crossing of his arms, Louis pushed his controller onto the floor and turned away from Zayn, vowing silently to not talk to him for the rest of the night if he was going to give him that kind of attitude.

About thirty seconds later, Zayn sighed, pausing the video game and turning to Louis. For a moment, he said nothing, then, with a grumble, he crawled over to Louis’ beanbag chair, hugging him with his arms draped across Louis’ stomach, squeezing tightly.

 

–

 

“See you, mum,” Louis mumbled as she kissed his cheek.

“Have a good day at school!” She yelled after him, but he’d already closed the car door and was headed up the stairs outside of the school building that led to the front.

Unfortunately for him, the doors were now locked, as the school usually had them fifteen minutes after the first bell rang. And he should’ve expected that, as it was now almost time for their lunch break. Luckily for Louis, he knew the back way to get into the school, and he sighed, only adjusting his backpack once before heading off to the other side of the building.

The morning was a bit chilly, but nothing that Louis hadn’t been prepared for when he and his mum left the flat. He was wearing his favorite navy jacket, the inside of it lined with a warm cloth that made his skin tingle. Even though he was late, Louis was pretty sure it’d be an alright day.

“Hey! It’s the fairy!” A boy’s voice racked through Louis’ brain, and he halted in his tracks.

The boy, as Louis suspected, was Neil, one of the only boys in his school who continuously harassed him and Zayn for the past two years.

Neil was a simple boy. He had dirty blonde hair, brown eyes and perfectly white teeth, though two of them were a bit too large for his mouth. Some might call them buck teeth, but Louis just called it ugly. Since the first day of school, when Zayn and Louis had walked down the hallway together and stopped at Louis’ classroom, where Zayn pecked him gently on the cheek before hurrying off to his own class, Neil had given him and Zayn shit. Louis hadn’t expected him to stop on his own, Neil was far too stupid for that, but he had secretly wished that by some miracle Louis would avoid any more coincidental meetings with him.

“Leave me alone, Neil,” Louis tried to bustle past him, holding his backpack strap close to his chest, “I’m late for class. Shouldn’t you be there, too?”

“School’s for losers, mate,” Neil chuckled, flicking Louis’ nose once he had him stopped completely, Neil’s body blocking his path.

“School is also for smart people,” Louis sighed, “so I guess you really don’t belong there.”

Neil made a horribly twisted, confused face and knocked his palm into Louis’ shoulder, “What the fuck did you say to me?”

“Nothing, Neil,” Louis’ heart was beginning to race. He really didn’t want any trouble. “C’mon, let me through,” he tried to swerve around him, but Neil kept closing in on him, pushing at his small, tense shoulders.

“Are you gonna put up a fight?” Neil taunted, “Or are you waiting for your faggot-boyfriend to come save you, like he always does?”

Before Louis could stop himself, he shoved at Neil’s abdomen, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t need anyone to save me!”

“Fucking fight me, then, cocksucker!”

Louis shrugged off his backpack swiftly, then tackled Neil to the ground, his tiny fists swinging at his head and chest. He knew he wouldn’t have the upper hand in this; Neil was twice his size, but even when Neil rolled over and starting throwing punches at Louis’ face, he couldn’t help but feel like he was actually winning. He wasn’t letting someone else fight for him, he was doing it on his own, and even if he got his face mangled, or his bones broken, he’d be able to, at least, say he’d fought. He’d done it for himself.

A good few minutes passed before Louis had the chance to knee Neil right in the balls, something that stalled him for a while as Louis stood up and grabbed his backpack, even though his fists hurt and he was pretty sure his nose had bled a pint’s worth of blood onto his jacket.

“Don’t come near me or Zayn again,” Louis huffed as he wiped at his poor nose that hurt like hell, feeling a bit theatric, “Or I will beat your fucking skull in.”

Neil looked up at Louis with terror in his eyes, his right hand clutching at his testicles and the other touching his lips to check for major wounds. He nodded once, letting out a slight whimper, and then Louis was running off toward the back of the building, where he’d originally been headed.

The lunch bell rang as soon as Louis stepped out of the closet in one of the heating rooms of the school, and he tried to ignore the looks of students who passed him, seeing the drying blood on him and letting their jaws drop as wide as their eyes.

“Louis!” A familiar voice yelled, and Louis turned to see Zayn hurrying up to his side. His expression turned confused and a bit angry as he slowed his pace, though, and he stared at Louis for a moment before saying anything. “Lou, what the hell happened? Are you okay?” He started to touch Louis’ face, his fingers wiping at the dried blood beneath his nose, and Louis winced. “Fuck,” Zayn cursed angrily, “Who did this? I’ll fucking wring his –“

“It’s fine,” Louis told him sternly, pulling Zayn’s hand away and twining their fingers. “I took care of it. No worries.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Zayn shook his head, “Someone did this, and I’m gonna beat them to a bloody pulp.”

“It’s fine!” Louis urged, his voice louder and angrier than before, “Zayn. It’s okay. I’m fine.” He raised his eyebrows, forcing a solid smile. “See? Fine.” Nodding to the cafeteria, Louis cleared his throat. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

Zayn didn’t try to make Louis tell him who it was as Louis pulled him to the line of the cafeteria, he only continued to hold his hand and squeeze it gently whenever Louis would stop talking and look out the window to the courtyard, just his presence somehow making Louis feel safer. He gave Zayn a small smile, a realistic one, and Zayn looked at him for a long time, pursing his pink lips, before nodding once and laying his head down on Louis’ shoulder.

 

–

 

When it came to the end of their school year, both Zayn and Louis were rather excited. For some reason, this summer seemed different. It felt electric, and Louis knew that from the first night of their summer holidays.

Louis had invited Zayn over for dinner, to celebrate the end of school, and Zayn, with a smirk on his face, happily declined.

“Wha — ? Why?” Louis sputtered.

“I’ve got better plans,” he simply said, leaving Louis utterly speechless as he walked away.

That night, at around one-thirty, after Louis had gone to bed and was safely tucked under his duvet, a knock sounded on his window.

During the minute or so that passed as Louis forced himself out of his bed, as comfortable as it was, he wondered who — or what — it was. He figured it was Zayn, he had a habit of coming over unannounced. But then again, it could be a murderer.

Luckily, it wasn’t a murderer; it, indeed, was Zayn.

When Louis opened the window, he let his eyes wander over Zayn, who stood just below his window, his hoodie wrinkled and his sweatpants too baggy. He held a rose in one hand, and looked nervous, his arms crossed as he chewed on his bottom lip.

Louis let his eyes sweep over him for a moment, appreciating the way Zayn’s eyelashes fluttered over his cheeks, creating small shadows, and he took in the way his hair, a bit long now, swept over his forehead, dark and soft. Louis realized then just how incredibly beautiful Zayn was, and he felt a clenching in his stomach that made his heart beat a bit faster.

“Hey,” Zayn merely said once he’d noticed Louis had opened the window. He smiled, crooked and lovely and it triggered another round of twisting in Louis’ stomach.

“Hi,” he replied, a bit breathless.

Zayn stared up at him for a few moments, making Louis feel a bit uncomfortable, but mostly confused, as Zayn said nothing.

“Stop it,” Louis snapped, his tone joking, though he really did wish that Zayn would stop looking at him like that.

“Oh, um, here,” Zayn held up the flower in front of Louis’ face, clearing his throat. Louis blushed, then, and reached out, grasping the rose in between his fingers.

He laughed once, eyebrows furrowing curiously, and then attempted to mutter a ‘thanks.’

A grin erupted over Zayn’s face, a light chuckle lifting itself from his lips, and he nodded, turning his head down toward the ground.

“So this is the ‘better plan’ you had, instead of coming over for dinner?” Louis teased in a whisper, raising an eyebrow at Zayn.

“Yeah,” Zayn chuckled, shrugging a shoulder. “Erm, Lou?” He murmured, then, and it was so quiet that Louis was lucky he could hear it over the sound of the wind whooshing in through his window.

“Yeah?” Louis flickered his eyes up and down Zayn’s face, his stomach continuing to create butterflies that flapped their wings restlessly inside of him.

Glancing up from the ground, Zayn brought his eyes up to Louis’, and only then could Louis see the unsureness in Zayn’s dark, blown pupils.

“Can I try something?” He whispered, and without another thought, without wondering what Zayn was going to try and without moving his eyes from Zayn’s, Louis nodded.

Zayn leaned forward, his face tentatively moving closer to Louis’, so close that Louis could feel his breath, a minty, fresh smell entering his nose.

Their lips pressed together, noses bumping nervously, and they stayed together for a moment, feeling the warmth of each other’s presence against their skin.

Slowly moving back, Louis opened his eyes, though he hadn’t even realized he’d close them, and a grin spread over his lips, a tingling sensation settling under his skin.

 

—

 

The sound of the front door opening and closing clumsily rattles Louis from his daze, and he looks over to the opening of their living room, surprised to see Zayn stepping closer and closer.

“I thought you were out,” he says petulantly, eyes unblinking.

Zayn glares at him, then goes to their room without another word.

Things didn’t grow worse slowly. The decline was quick; one day Zayn was telling Louis how in love with him he was, and the next he was dealing and going out every night, ignoring Louis like the plague, and even when Louis could grab his attention, it usually left Louis in worse shape than before.

–

“God, I love kissing you,” Zayn’s voice appeared in Louis’ ears as he practically melted into Zayn’s arms, letting Zayn hold him and caress him on Zayn’s bed. He just wanted to feel him like this, always.

“Yeah?” Louis laughed quietly, pressing soft, tender kisses to Zayn’s neck and nuzzling his skin. “I love kissing you, too,” he murmured, licking a gentle stripe along his skin. He pretended not to feel the shiver that Zayn let ripple through him, but he still smiled despite himself.

“Lou, you –,” Zayn sighed, licking his lips, and tilted Louis’ chin up to kiss him properly. “You’re so gorgeous, Jesus Christ,” he shook his head, leaning in to kiss Louis another time.

A bit overwhelmed by the heat Louis could feel in his stomach, and the tightening in his lower regions, Louis sucked in a small breath as he continued to kiss Zayn, their lips moving and sliding together with their tongues exploring each other’s mouths.

Zayn may have thought so, but Louis hardly thought he was gorgeous. He was fifteen and covered in spots, and even though his family and friends and Zayn, obviously, told him he was a beautiful person and had a lovely smile and eyes that practically lit up a room, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that he was really that attractive.

A light moan left Zayn’s lips as Louis climbed over him, settling down on top of his hips and bracketing his legs around Zayn. He pressed him against the wall, running his fingers through his hair, and Louis hummed into Zayn’s mouth, wanting more.

He could feel Zayn in his tight trousers, his dick hardening in his jeans, and Louis grinned as he kissed Zayn’s perfect lips, rolling his hips experimentally.

“Fuck, Lou,” Zayn outright groaned, detaching his mouth from Louis’ and dropping his head back against the wall.

Louis bit down on his lip, holding back the smirk that so stubbornly wanted to make itself known on his lips, and rubbed down against Zayn’s crotch again, watching his mouth drop open and his eyes squeeze tight as he whined quietly.

“Shh,” he whispered, nibbling at Zayn’s ear, “Your mum’ll hear us.”

He hummed, pleased when Zayn made a sound of agreement and nodded, and then kissed him again, trailing his hand down Zayn’s chest and tugging at the hem of his shirt. Louis sucked Zayn’s bottom lip into his mouth as he began to unbutton Zayn’s jeans, letting his fingers do the work on their own as they unzipped and moved his trousers away.

“Louis,” Zayn shivered, his body seemingly desperate for Louis to touch him, “please.”

“’Kay,” Louis chuckled, pecking Zayn’s lips before slipping his fingers under the waistband of Zayn’s pants.

“Zayn?” A woman’s voice shattered their smothered bubble that had somehow formed around them, “Louis? Are you two alright? I heard a thud.”

Zayn’s mother began to open the door, the knob clicking as she turned it, and Louis nearly catapulted himself from the bed, sitting himself in the computer chair at Zayn’s desk once he’d gotten to his feet, then proceeded to cross his legs. Zayn leaned forward, cleverly hiding his hard-on, and when his mother opened the door to Zayn’s room, they looked like perfectly normal teenaged boys, sitting around, doing nothing.

“We’re fine, mum,” Zayn cleared his throat, “Just hit my head.”

She glanced back and forth between the two of them, nodding slowly, “Are you sure you’re alright?” Her furrowed eyebrows seemed concerned as she looked at Zayn.

He nodded, pursing his lips, and then she seemed to believe it enough to leave them in Zayn’s room once again, closing the door behind her.

“Fuck,” Louis let out a string of laughter, falling out of the computer chair and giggling as he rolled about the floor. “Oh my God!”

“Shut up,” Zayn tried to hide his smile, but when choked on air as he gasped in a breath, he let it go, and laughed along with him, guessing that his mum could probably hear them, but he refused to even care at that point.

 

—

 

“Where were you?” Louis’ worried tone swept through their flat that they’d just bought last year, on Zayn’s nineteenth birthday, his arms crossed over his slender chest. He could feel his heartbeat underneath the fabric of his shirt.

“Out,” Zayn merely said, slipping out of his shoes before shrugging off his coat, letting it fall to the floor.

“Obviously,” Louis sighed. “It’s really late, babe.”

Zayn didn’t even look at him, just continued on to their bedroom without a word, but, oh, no, he’s not getting out of this.

Louis made a speedy shuffle over to the doorway, holding his arm up over the threshold.

“Louis,” Zayn almost growled.

“Are you gonna tell me where you were?”

“I want to go to bed,” Zayn snapped, “move, please.”

The look in Zayn’s red-rimmed eyes told a million truths, things Zayn would never say out loud, but still managed to stab right through Louis like a knife. He ground his teeth together, holding back the slight tears that threatened to escape, and stood firm in the doorway of their bedroom.

“Zayn,” he sighed, “what’s happening to you?” It didn’t even come out as a question, more as a statement that Louis didn’t think had an answer.

“Nothing!” Zayn huffed, like an angry child, and pushed at Louis to get him out of the way. The contact was surprising, making Louis yelp as he landed on his bum, the carpet halting him as it brushed against his jeans.

“Fuck, Lou, can’t you just leave me be?” He groaned, stepping over Louis’ stunned body to settle onto the bed.

That night, Louis slept on the sofa.

 

—

 

The taste of peppermint was prevalent on Louis’ tongue when he exited the bathroom, after he’d brushed his teeth, and then made his way to his living room.

What he didn’t expect when he stepped through the threshold was Zayn, waiting with a nervous smile and a bouquet of dark, scarlet roses.

Louis’ family had decided to go to Switzerland for the holidays, to sled and do everything they could do at home, but pay much more money for it. Louis, because he was that much of a party pooper, pleaded to stay home on his own. His plea was basically a large string of ‘I’m almost seventeen, mum, for fuck’s sake, just let me stay home.’ Luckily, his mother trusted him enough to say yes.

He was supposed to have had the house to himself for a week and a half, but with Zayn in his living room, giving Louis big, brown puppy eyes, it seemed as though he wouldn’t be very lonely at all.

“Hello, there,” he half-laughed and half-questioned, “how did you get in?”

“Please, Lou,” Zayn scoffed, “I’ve known you for almost eight years now, and you don’t expect me to know where you all hide your spare key?”

Louis slowly shuffled forward, still in his pajama bottoms and a slim white tee that’s splotched with more than one questionable stain, and kissed Zayn’s lips chastely. “You’re a creep, that’s what you are,” he grinned, and Zayn elbowed him gently. “What are you doing here, anyways?”

“Well, firstly,” Zayn murmured, presenting the roses between their chests with a small smile, “these are for you.”

Louis furrowed his eyebrows but decided to take the flowers, regardless of the odd mysteriousness Zayn was emitting, and smiled as he smelled them appreciatively.

“They’re gorgeous,” he laughed once, biting down on his lip. “Thanks. I’ll just go put these in some water.”

As he began to make his way towards the kitchen, Zayn followed, and it was a little odd, the way Zayn was being so polite and obedient to Louis – which, really, never happened. But, regardless, Louis continued on warily, placing the roses on the counter, and then grabbing a large vase from the top of their cabinet. He let the faucet run for a few moments, and then gently settled the flowers into their new home, just a little pleased with the fact that Zayn had even bought them. They must’ve been expensive.

Zayn’s arms wrapped around him then, just as he pressed a small kiss just under Louis’ ear, his nose nuzzling into the locks of Louis’ unwashed hair.

“You smell nice,” he whispered, his voice low and warm.

“Really?” Louis attempted to laugh, his skin heating up and his cheeks, no doubt, flushing embarrassingly. “Because I haven’t showered yet, so I probably smell terrible.”

“You smell like you,” Zayn returned, and Louis could feel his fingers brushing against the skin just above his sweatpants, where the edge of his shirt was resting. He couldn’t help but lean into Zayn’s hold as he closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Zayn practically envelope him. How Louis wished he would do just that, how he wished Zayn would just –

“I wanna make you feel good tonight,” Zayn muttered suddenly, his lips caressing the space of Louis’ neck that remained visible. “Can I do that? Can I make you feel good, Lou?”

A soft sigh left Louis’ lips, something he couldn’t have controlled, and he blinked his eyes open, feeling his heartbeat speed up anxiously.

“I…” He began, but Zayn gently bit down on the skin of Louis’ ear, rendering him speechless.

“What?” Zayn murmured so low that Louis could feel the tone of his voice in his fingertips, goosebumps forming along his arms. “What is it?” He asked, sounding more worried than turned on.

Louis swiveled around in Zayn’s arms, his hand coming up to run through his boyfriend’s hair. For some reason, it soothed him. He tried to remain strong, tried to keep up his usual façade of being able to handle anything, but with Zayn this close, and with him wanting him so openly, Louis was pretty sure he couldn’t hide this side of him.

“I’m just,” he said quietly, “embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” Zayn furrowed his eyebrows, tilting Louis’ chin upwards to meet his eyes. “What do you have to be embarrassed about?”

Louis shrugged, shaking his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have sex with Zayn, that was definitely not it, it was just that he was sure Zayn would finally get a good look at him, and he wouldn’t want him anymore.

Getting Zayn off without going through all of the motions was one thing, it was safe and Louis didn’t feel exposed. He felt relatively in control when they were alone in the backseat of his car, or on either of their beds in their rooms. But when Zayn was implying this, to actually go all the way, Louis could feel the nervousness beneath his skin.

“Lou,” Zayn gently traced his fingers along Louis’ cheekbone, then his jawline, and Zayn leaned forward, resting their foreheads together. “Whatever you’re ashamed of, I’m sure it’s nothing,” he smiled reassuringly, pecking Louis’ lips. “But if you don’t want to, you know, do this, then that’s fine. We don’t have to.”

“No,” Louis leaned away, shaking his head again, his eyes finally meeting Zayn’s. “No, I – I want to. That’s not the problem,” he sighed, “I just – I’m afraid you won’t want… me.”

For a second, Louis could feel Zayn’s burning gaze on his face, and even though he couldn’t tell what he was thinking, he knew Zayn was about to say something. Was about to try to reassure him that he’d want him no matter what. And Louis tried to not snap at him, because he knew that that’s just what good boyfriends do, they kiss you and they leave you breathless and they make you feel wanted, but Zayn didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t something he could fix.

Zayn’s fingers trailed down to twine with Louis’, both of their hands warm against each other, and Louis knew he was falling for it, he was getting sucked into this welcoming, comfortable envelope that Zayn was pulling him in.

“Louis, I will always want you,” he whispered, tone low and meaningful, “Alright?” He said hopefully and Louis couldn’t help but mumble a soft, wistful ‘alright’.

“C’mere,” Louis returned in a stronger tone, pulling his and Zayn’s intertwined hands behind his back where he settled Zayn’s hand around his waist, then placed his own around Zayn’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

The noises between them reverberated around the kitchen as they kissed, the small, appreciative moans and the light gasps as they pulled back for air when they were desperate for it. Louis could feel the wetness of Zayn’s tongue against his own as they molded their mouths together, his hips lifting up to match Zayn’s. He wanted more. Fuck, he needed more of him.

Before he could even think of stopping himself, he was leaning back against the counter of his kitchen, pulling Zayn on him and kissing him harshly.

“Lou,” Zayn growled under his breath, and then managed to grip his hands under Louis’ thighs, lifting him onto the marble counter. Louis let out a small squeal, but then Zayn was kissing him again, and Louis couldn’t think of much else.

“Y’alright?” Zayn asked shyly, slipping his fingers underneath the waistband of Louis’ jeans, his lips making a trail of stinging warmth along Louis’ neck.

Louis nodded with a sigh, becoming more sure of himself as the time passed. He wanted Zayn, he wanted him inside of him, he wanted to make him whine and moan and make every sound he could imagine; he wanted to hear it all flow from Zayn’s lips.

Zayn slipped in between Louis’ legs somehow — no idea how that happened — and Louis could feel how hard he was, just from this, and he wanted to touch him, wanted Zayn to touch him back, he wanted this so bad.

With a strength that Louis didn’t even know Zayn had, Zayn lifted Louis from the counter and tightened his hands on his thighs, holding him up. Louis gasped into Zayn’s lips, which made Zayn laugh just before he began kissing him again, and then Zayn was carrying him toward Louis’ bedroom. Ungracefully, they fell onto each other on top of the mattress, small giggles and breaths leaving their lips before being trapped between their mouths once more. 

Louis found his hand, entangled in Zayn’s hair, and dragged it down to the fly of Zayn’s trousers, his fingers nimbly palming against him and making Zayn let out quick, shallow breaths on his neck.

Before long, Louis could feel Zayn’s hips slightly rocking into his hand, their lips moving on each other’s skin and meeting briefly together at their mouths.

He couldn’t comprehend what was happening beyond Zayn’s hands, beyond the heated feeling of Zayn all over him, wanting him and kissing him and moaning softly into his ear. Within seconds, both of their clothes are in piles on his bedroom floor, his thighs loosely gripped around Zayn’s hips, and their mouths moving together in a way that Louis could only describe as ‘hungry’. 

Without Louis noticing, Zayn had dropped a packet of lube and a condom beside the two of them, presumably from his jeans, and when Zayn pulled away to tear open the packet, Louis felt nervousness bubble up inside of him again. His stomach dropped and he could feel the blood blooming in his cheeks as he watched Zayn’s deft fingers.

“Okay?” He heard Zayn whisper before he nodded, surely, and then his fingers were inside of him, spreading him open. 

The movements of Zayn’s hands and body were so gentle that Louis could only do so much to hold back from taking over. At first, the feeling of Zayn’s fingers made Louis squirm and feel so full that he had to figure out a breathing pattern to keep still. As Zayn fingered him, though, their movements synced and he began to writhe onto the sheets, one hand moving to grip his cock.

Swiftly, Zayn patted away Louis’ hand and got a tight hold on him, his tongue licking up the underside of him to the head. Louis moaned, tossing his head back, and clawed at the sheets beneath him. 

Zayn pressed in a third finger and stretched Louis until he could hardly stand it, his hand and mouth still working Louis’ cock, and Louis whimpered out meagerly, “God, just fuck me already.”

With the assent to do so, Zayn removed his lips from Louis’ dick and chuckled breathily, his nose pushed against the inside of Louis’ thigh.

“So pushy,” Zayn grinned up at him, pressing a soft kiss to Louis’ skin.

Louis took in a deep breath, about to heave a large, exasperated sigh, when Zayn took away his fingers and left Louis feeling awkwardly empty. Instead, with a strangled whine, he glared down at Zayn as he readjusted his position, aligning himself with Louis. With a cautious pressure of Zayn’s hips, his cock pushed into Louis and Zayn’s arms nearly buckled as he bracketed Louis’ head.

“Shit,” he mumbled, staring down at Louis with blown pupils. “A’right?”

Louis bit down on his lip, his hands clutching onto Zayn. It hurt, but it was good. It was the kind of hurt that made Louis want more of it; he didn’t want Zayn to stop just yet. 

“You can move, I’m good,” Louis laughed, breathy and tight, and Zayn reciprocated the chuckle.

“Maybe you are, but I think I need a minute,” he smiled nervously, his cheeks reddening from embarrassment. After a moment, as he steadily took a deep breath, Zayn easily pecked him on the lips before gingerly guiding his hips in and out of Louis.

It lasted longer than Louis thought it would – longer than he thought Zayn would be able to last (he always comes so easily when Louis’ got his mouth around him) – but when Zayn stuttered out a low moan as his hips moved of their own accord, Louis was still left without release. The carefulness of Zayn’s movements hadn’t done a lot for him, though it’d felt good once he’d finally set up a rhythm, and he was leaking a bit of pre-come from his swollen cock, still trapped between their bodies. 

Zayn wrapped a hand around Louis’ cock as he pulled out of him, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and neck, and whispered his name like it was some sort of prayer. Louis came with a small gasp, grabbing at Zayn’s matted, dark hair with his hand, his come spilling over Zayn’s fingers and his stomach.

While Zayn threw the condom into the trash bin and stepped into Louis’ bathroom, Louis laid there in a haze, eyes drifting closed as the moonlight drifted in through the blinds on his window. He managed a smirk as Zayn walked back in with a flannel and swiped it carefully over Louis’ stomach, cleaning the come from his skin before it had a chance to dry. Before throwing the flannel to the floor and climbing into the bed with Louis so they could fall asleep, Zayn kissed him once more, lingering and sweet, both of their lips red and tingling.

 

—

 

The memories always come in bursts, bringing Louis to tears some nights when he thinks about how things have gone to shit. He tries to force them away, but they just keep coming back. He’s started to get tired of fighting it; he just wants it to stop. He just wishes he could make everything stop.

Louis sits up, careful of the noise he’s making so he doesn’t disturb whatever Zayn’s doing — hopefully sleeping — and goes to make himself a bowl of frosted cornflakes. When he opens the fridge, there’s barely enough milk in the carton, and he sighs, shaking his head.

The next thing he realizes he’s doing, Louis grabs his jacket and wallet, slips on his shoes, and makes sure to bring his key as he leaves the apartment.

Just as he turns around, he runs into someone who yelps a low ‘sorry!’ just as Louis’ glasses fall off of his face and onto the floor.

Louis groans, kneeling down to reach for them, and when his fingertips skim over the plastic rim, the spark and warmth of someone else’s fingers stumble over his own.

“Sorry,” the person says again, and grasps Louis’ glasses before he has a chance to. He holds them out to him, both of them still kneeling close to the floor of the hallway.

Once Louis can see the other person clearly, he finds himself frozen. He’s never seen him before. And, Jesus Christ, he’s one of the most beautiful creatures he’s ever seen.

“No, erm,” Louis clears his throat, straightening up as the man does the same. “It’s fine. I should really watch where I’m going.”

The man grins, plump, pink lips spreading wide over gorgeous white teeth, dimples prominent on his blushing cheeks.

“Nah, that was my fault,” he says, rearranging the satchel on his shoulder. “Um, you’re my neighbor, then?” The man nods toward Louis’ flat, and Louis stutters.

“Y-yeah, I s’pose so,” he attempts to laugh it off.

The man hums, still smiling, and holds out a large, tan hand.

“I’m Harry,” he introduces, “and you are?”

Louis reaches forward nervously and tries to ignore the blatant shaking in his body. Who and what the hell is this boy?

“Uh, Louis,” he mutters, giving Harry a small smile, peeking over the top of his glasses. “I live here with my boyfriend, Zayn,” he nods back at the door, “but he, erm, works a lot, so you might not see much of him.”

Harry nods happily, looking just pleased with having met someone new, and then turns to his door.

“Well, I’ll let you get on with whatever you were doing,” he chuckles, “sorry, again. It’s nice to meet you, Louis.” He waves goodbye, his hand floppy and excited like a toddler, and then closes his door, leaving Louis in the chilly hallway feeling swept away and a bit lost. 

 

—

 

It was a year or so after they’d moved in together, and Louis knew he couldn’t continue only contributing to their rent by merely working small hours at the grocery store down the street. He needed a proper job, a gig, to kickstart the career he’d been dreaming of since he was a kid. So when he’d gotten the offer to direct his own play at the local theatre, Louis jumped on it. It was like a dream come true.

He was coming home from a late-night workshop that had been held in the theatre. The bus ride was loud and the wheels squeaked so noisily that Louis could hear them through the windows. He could swear that the man on the opposite end of the bus was staring at him, but every time Louis looked his way, the man was glaring out of his own window.

Louis’ stop came up within the next ten minutes, which he was glad for – he was tired and cold, and he just wanted to get into bed and sleep – and he stepped down the bus stairs to the pavement, splashing aimlessly in the puddle on the side of the street. It’d been raining earlier, but had thankfully stopped once nightfall came.

Tightening his coat around his torso, and readjusting his glasses, Louis began heading down the block, towards his apartment building.

It was only a few paces down the pavement when Louis sensed a person behind him. Figuring it was another person who had been dropped off by the bus, he continued on without a glance back. He tried not to think much of it when the footsteps got closer to him, but when another pair of feet began to walk steadily behind him, his heartbeat began to pound faster.

He could see his building in front of him, and with a small sigh of relief, he rounded the small set of stairs and reached into his coat pocket with shaking, chilled fingers for his keys. 

Without warning, a fist punched into his side, and he gasped, clutching onto his stomach.

“Give us your money, faggot,” a man’s voice said, but Louis didn’t have time to look up at the man before he’d pulled Louis back and held him in a headlock. His arm tightened around Louis’ throat as he was lifted slightly from the ground, his feet kicking under him restlessly, and another man, shrouded from the darkness, stepped in front of him. The second man began rifling through Louis’ pockets, even as mercilessly as Louis was fighting the hold.

With some wrestling around, Louis managed to knock his head down far enough to bite down onto the man’s forearm, causing the man to release him and drop him onto the ground. 

“Fucking piece of shit bit me!” The man said disbelievingly as Louis coughed on the pavement, struggling to upright himself. The second man, unsuccessful with finding Louis’ wallet, slammed a hand into Louis’ cheek, barely missing his nose but cracking the right lens of his glasses.

With his vision unfocused, Louis attempted to shove the second man away while grasping the keys in his pocket. Just as the first man gripped onto the back of Louis’ hair, he plunged the key into the lock and twisted it desperately. His glasses fell from his face as the man pulled his head back, his knee knocking into Louis’ kidneys, and he yelped helplessly before scrambling away from the men and racing into the building.

The stairs were the quickest choice, he realized as soon as he came upon them, even though he had no idea if the two men were going to follow him into the complex or not. He raced up the steps, every floor become like a weight on his shoulders as he slowed near the top, huffing and nearly coughing up blood, he throat felt so raw. 

He barely made it to his own door, fumbling to unlock the door and let himself in. With a stumble, Louis sat on the carpeted floor of the space in front of the door. He clutched at his side, feeling the pain from the guy’s kick settling in, and he threw his head back against the wall.

“Lou?” He could hear Zayn call, but he was too busy trying not to let the painful tears fall from his eyes to pay attention to where he was. He sounded distressed.

“Louis, fuck, what happened?” And, without warning, Zayn was by Louis’ side, looking at him like he was afraid to touch him, to see if he was really hurt.

“A couple of guys,” Louis sat up properly, sighing gruffly, “from the bus. They jumped me,” he tried not to sound too unsurprised, but he figured this would happen at some point. Coming home on his own in the inner city at night was dangerous. Louis had just figured that people getting mugged only happened in films.

Zayn reached forward, his touch so gentle against Louis’ cheek that Louis leaned into it, even if he’d hesitated a bit. 

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” Zayn muttered, the glimmer in his eyes sad and filled with guilt. He slowly helped Louis ease himself up from the floor, flinching only when Louis had gasped at the touch of Zayn’s fingers on his back. 

The way Zayn’s movements conducted themselves, his fingers soft and gentle against Louis, and his words barely whispers, like he was afraid he’d break Louis if he spoke too loudly, it made Louis’ heart ache with longing for the old Zayn. His Zayn, the Zayn that would’ve done anything to protect him, though Louis insisted that he didn’t need his protection. It was all too much like when they were little kids, and the thought could’ve brought Louis to tears, if it weren’t for the incessant ache in his lower back.

Zayn carefully washed the small amount of blood from Louis’ cheek, where the skin had split along his cheekbone, and he brushed back Louis’ fringe, checking for other head injuries – to which Louis pressed that he didn’t, he would’ve felt it by now, but Zayn only fixed him with a stern look, causing him to sigh roll his eyes.

“Your glasses,” he suddenly said, like he’d suddenly remembered Louis wore them in the first place.

“Oh. Yeah. They fell off,” Louis pursed his lips, running his slightly shaking fingers through his hair. “I’ll have to wear contacts for a few weeks, I guess, until I get a new pair.” 

They were quiet for a few seconds, thickness in the air settling around them, until Zayn spoke.

“I –,” he started, his mouth opening and closing before properly forming words, “I don’t want you riding the bus anymore.” 

Louis furrowed his eyebrows at Zayn, “I have to.”

“Why?” Zayn asked, his voice taut with something that Louis couldn’t decipher.

“Because I have a _job_ , Zayn, and I don’t have enough money to buy a bloody car,” Louis groaned, slipping from the sink where he’d let Zayn lift him to earlier.

Zayn merely followed Louis as he strutted out of the bathroom, and Louis didn’t look back, but he could sense his eyes on him as he stood at their closet, removing his shirt carefully and tossing it into the hamper. He heard Zayn heave a large sigh, and Louis, annoyed, turned to glare at him. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was so turned off by the fact that Zayn was trying to keep him safe, but it made his stomach churn with anger nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry,” Zayn whispered, then, and Louis’ eyebrows raised. “I know you’ve wanted this job for a long time, and it’s important, I just…” He shook his head, dropping his eyes to the floor, “I get worried. Especially now that this has happened. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Swallowing his pride, Louis took a small step forward, holding out his small, still slightly shaking hands. The effects of the night were taking more of a toll on him than he would’ve thought. He was used to this. His whole childhood were repeated instances of nights like this. Maybe it was because, for once in his life, he had finally felt like he was leaving that part of his life behind, and it was beginning to catch up again. But he wouldn’t dwell on that too much; he couldn’t. It wasn’t worth it to worry.

Zayn shuffled forward, still hiding his gaze, and placed his own hands on the shorter boy’s waist. With a tired sigh, Louis leaned forward to rest his head on Zayn’s chest, but the steady beating of Zayn’s heart that used to keep him so calm didn’t have the same effect.

 

—

 

The door creaks loudly when Louis gets back from the grocery, even though he tries his best to quiet it. He balances the milk in the bow of one arm while he closes the door, his keys perched between his lips, and then he drops them into the key bowl, heaving a soft sigh.

The lady at check-out line was slow as hell, and then he was pretty sure the bus had hit every red light on the way to his stop. It’d taken him a good twenty minutes just to get milk for a bloody bowl of frosted flakes.

Just as Louis places the carton atop the counter, the bedroom door begins to open, and Zayn blinks at Louis wearily, a small yawn leaving his lips.

“Thought you were asleep,” Louis mutters, pouring the frosted flakes into a small green bowl.

“I was,” Zayn replies, but there’s no snap in his voice, no malicious intent or hatred in his tone, and it makes Louis look up curiously. “You woke me up,” he yawns again, stretching his slender, tattooed arms above his head.

Louis nods, glancing down at his bowl as he watches the milk slide out of the carton, “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he mumbles, slipping into a bar stool that at the front of their island counter. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep in the first place.”

Placing the carton in the refrigerator, Louis takes a deep breath of the cool air releasing itself from within the appliance to settle himself. He can see the way Zayn’s pupils are dilated, now that he’s stepped into the kitchen, and the thought of Zayn using in their bedroom makes Louis feel sick.

“D’you go out and get milk? Saw we were almost out,” Zayn blinks up at Louis as he turns back and settles against the counter, his elbows resting up against the countertop, back arched and feet tapping minutely.

“Yeah,” Louis nods again, shoveling a spoon of cereal into his mouth, “took forever, though. Lady at the front made sure I had the correct change three times, and insisted on me hearing about her granddaughter, who, might I add, is in law school.” He raises his eyebrows enthusiastically, and Zayn laughs the way he used to, the way that still makes a smile spread across Louis’ lips. The confliction he feels afterwards is enough to make him stop eating, leaving him to spin the spoon absently in the bowl.

A few seconds of silence pass, the only sound in the kitchen being Louis’ spoon clanking against the glass of the bowl, and he can feel Zayn’s eyes on him, making him wonder if it’s fear or butterflies he can feel in his stomach.

“Lou,” Zayn finally says, breaking the silence, “do you still love me?”

Louis’ movements stop, his hand freezing just above the bowl with a spoonful of frosted flakes and dripping milk, and he trails his eyes up slowly, careful not to connect them with Zayn’s gaze.

“Of course I do,” he says, his voice attempting, but failing, to show how sincere he is – or is trying to be. “Why would you even ask something like that?”

Before Louis looks up from the counter, Zayn’s moved from the bar stool to Louis’ side of the kitchen, and he’s got a gentle hand on Louis’ waist, fingers soft and warm, and even though it feels nice, Louis can’t help but tense up.

“Because I’m never sure anymore,” he mutters and moves Louis around, pinning him to the counter softly with his own body up against him. Louis gasps quietly, his eyes carefully moving up to meet Zayn’s, and he can feel his heartbeat growing increasingly rapid.

When Zayn leans in to kiss him, Louis’ first instinct is to flinch and move away.

“Lou…” He mutters, sounding a bit shocked, and Louis just shakes his head, attempting to laugh it off.

“Sorry,” his voice utters, almost inaudible. Louis can feel Zayn’s hands on his hips, moving up his shirt and skittering along his skin, heated and flushed.

Zayn kisses him again, longer than before, his lips molding around Louis’ and making an uncomfortable shiver run through him. “I love you,” he says, and the way he makes it flow from his mouth makes Louis feel tense and helpless, gasping for breath.

“Zayn,” Louis forces out, pushing Zayn a fraction of an inch away, “I don’t – Zayn,” he pleads, though his tone is raspy and he can’t get a proper sentence out of his mouth. 

It takes him a moment, but Zayn finally stops and turns his gaze toward Louis. There’s something in his eyes; a flash of realization, and then he plops his head onto Louis’ shoulder, letting his body fall a bit limp in Louis’ arms. He knows he shouldn’t be kind to him. Louis knows he should teach him a lesson, he should make him sleep on the kitchen floor, but he can’t. The heartbroken throbbing he feels inside of chest is too much for him to leave him.

Zayn willingly lets Louis take him to their bed, and as he removes both of their clothes completely besides their boxers, Zayn dopily kisses him goodnight like nothing’s wrong.

Louis falls asleep to the sound of cars beeping outside of their window two hours later, long after Zayn’s fallen asleep from post-coital drowsiness, and he knows full well he’ll probably dream about things he’s continuously trying to forget.

 

—

 

“Good morning!”

Louis looks up from his phone to see Harry, his new neighbor that lives conveniently across the hall, smiling happily at him. At six in the morning.

“It is morning, yes,” Louis agrees. _Not sure I’d say it’s a good one, though,_ he silently thinks to himself. He locks his phone, then stuffs it into his back pocket, blinking up at Harry wearily. “And why the hell are you so cheery this morning?”

“Because I get to see your lovely face,” Harry teases, then begins to follow Louis as he walks down the corridor. “Where’re you heading off to?”

Louis glances at Harry before pressing the button to call for the elevator. “Rehearsal,” he murmurs.

“Rehearsal? Like, for a play?” Harry asks, more than a little chipper. Which is not okay.

“Yes, exactly like a play.” Louis isn’t sure he wants to deal with people, especially happy people, this morning, even if Harry is extraordinarily charming.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open, revealing a shiny, metallic mirror for the back wall. Louis steps in, running a hand through his matted hair, after not having washed it since the night before. He can still feel the sweat and tenseness in his bones from the night before.

“What are you doing, then? Shouldn’t a boy like you be sleeping in until two in the afternoon instead of waking up at the arsecrack of dawn?”

Harry laughs, and it’s a lot more soothing to Louis’ heartache than he’s willing to admit.

“’A boy like me’? What’s that supposed to mean?” He leans against the railing along the back of the lift, perching himself on the wall. “I’m heading off to band practice. The majority of the band has third-shift jobs, so it’s easier for them if we just do it early in the morning, when they get off work.”

“Ah,” Louis nods, searching through his shoulder bag for his script when he realizes he must’ve left it in the apartment, “shit.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow as he leans forward, curious, “What?”

“I left my bloody script in my flat,” he sighs just as the doors open to the lobby. Anxiously, he presses the button with a rubbed-off number five, then sees Harry peering at him across the lift. “You can…leave, you know. You don’t have to go back up with me, I’m sure your friends are waiting for you.”

With a light laugh, Harry shakes his head, “Nah, I’m a bit early. I don’t mind going back up with you, if that’s alright.” And with a gleaming smile, there’s no way Louis can insist on Harry leaving him be.

The lift takes them back up to the fifth floor, and once Louis’ got his key out and unlocked the door to his flat, he turns to Harry, holding a solitary finger up to his lips to signal being quiet. Harry nods, feigning seriousness, and Louis tries to hide a smile as he pushes the door open, revealing his flat he left just a few minutes ago.

“It looks exactly like mine,” Harry chuckles, “except everything’s on the opposite side.”

Louis rolls his eyes, heading over to the open living room in search of his script that’s bound in worn-out leather. He’s pretty sure he left it on the side-table, but when he goes to look, nothing is there but an old magazine.

“Where the hell is it…?” He groans, scratching the back of his head.

“What’s it look like?” Harry asks, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Erm, brown leather, looks like a notebook, has silver lettering on the front?” Louis peeks under the coach cushions to no avail, “It should say ‘Close to the Sun by Louis Tomlinson’ on the front.”

Harry glances up at Louis from where he was looking under a side table on the opposite side of the sofa, “Are you telling me it’s your script?” Harry furrows his eyebrows as he grins, “Like, you wrote it?”

Louis nods exasperatedly, “Yeah, I wrote it,” he looks up at Harry, meeting a pair of wide, green eyes, and he can’t help the small grin that settles on his lips. With a foolish attempt, he tries to wipe it away as he turns away, “and I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop gawking and continued to help me find it, because all of my notes from rehearsals thus far are in it.”

Harry smiles, big and bright, then begins to help Louis once again, though his grin stays proudly on his lips.

They search under the sofa — Harry lifted it up as Louis got down onto his knees and crawled beneath — and in the drawers of the kitchen, and they even look behind the television set, though it’s not even remotely likely to be there.

A half an hour passes and still no script, and Louis is all but about to give up when Harry’s cell phone starts ringing.

“Hello?” Harry answers, “Hey, Nialler,” he crosses one arm over his chest, sitting down on the arm of the sofa. “Yeah, sorry, I stopped to help a friend find something he lost,” a moment passes, “Yes, I do actually have other friends, you knob.” Harry rolls his eyes, “I’ll be there in, like, fifteen minutes. A’right?” A sound of confirmation echoes from the other end and then Harry says goodbye before hanging up.

“You didn’t have to help me,” Louis sighs, “Now I’ve made you late.”

Harry shrugs, “Niall’s usually late, anyways. Just so happened on the day that I was, he wasn’t.” He smiles as he tucks his phone back into the tight back pocket of his jeans, “‘Sides, I offered to help, so stop feeling so guilty.”

Louis purses his lips, looking at Harry and realizing that he’s probably far too kind for his own good — he’d probably get mugged on the street, then willingly give the robber his wallet and say something like “you need it more than me” — and the small realization makes Louis grin despite himself, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners.

The bedroom door opens, then, and Zayn blinks his dark brown eyes at Louis, then Harry, looking extremely confused.

“Hello?” He says, eyebrows furrowed at Harry.

“Hello!” Harry returns, giving Zayn a little wave of his fingers, “You must be Zayn.”

Nodding slowly, Zayn narrows his eyes, “Sorry, do I know you?”

“Oh!” Harry holds out his hand to Zayn, “I’m Harry, your new neighbor.” He grins brightly, much to the opposite of Zayn’s expression that’s a mix of a sneer and furrowed eyebrows.

“Nice to meet you,” Zayn says, though it’s slow and tired. He looks at Louis, who gives Zayn a small smile, and then he clears his throat before glancing around the living room and kitchen, seeing the mess they’ve unfortunately made.

“Were you… looking for something?” He asks, a bit more awake with wide eyes.

“Yeah, have you have seen my script?” Louis walks over to Zayn, who’s still stood in the doorway of their bedroom.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I was reading a bit of it last night,” Zayn nods, heading back into their room as Louis follows. Zayn crawls across the bed, his bottom sticking up as he leans over the side. He sits back up, a leather-bound notebook in his hand, and holds it out to Louis. “Here,” he gives Louis a small, sheepish smile.

“Thanks,” Louis whispers, his fingers brushing over Zayn’s as he retrieves the average-sized book from him.

Zayn nods, and the moment between them seems a bit still and serene. Louis hasn’t felt as at ease as this in a couple of years, and he feels himself smile back at Zayn willingly, feeling as though he could almost cry from the relief in his body.

“I gotta go,” and for the first time in a long while, he feels a bit sad, leaving Zayn. “I love you,” he says quietly, and Zayn looks as though he’s about to burst into tears.

“Love you, too,” Zayn whispers, and then Louis knows he needs to leave right then, or else he’ll probably start to cry as well, though he’s not entirely sure why.

Louis turns away and leaves with the door open, grasping Harry’s arm and pulling him out of the apartment in a rush.

“It was nice meeting you!” Harry yells just before the front door closes, and then Louis and Harry are burrowing down the hall as quickly as Louis can drag Harry behind him.

 

—

 

Rehearsal goes well, at least, in Louis’ opinion, and really, his opinion is the only one that matters, as he’s the writer and director. His lead, played by a woman named Andrea, could be a little more realistic when she’s reading through her monologues, but they’re only on the third rehearsal, so he’ll give her a break.

He decides that things may be changing for him. Things are looking a little better, and if he continues to smile and, maybe, perhaps, become close friends with Harry, it might bring Zayn back.

Louis can tell he’s still in there, somewhere. There are moments where Louis sees the old Zayn peeking out from behind this Zayn’s shoulder, giving Louis a warm, loving smile and a small wave of his hand.

He doesn’t run into Harry when he gets back to the flat, but that’s fine, because he was hoping to get some alone time with Zayn, anyways. With a wide grin, Louis excitedly opens the front door to their apartment, and he drops his keys into the keybowl before removing his jacket and shoes.

“Babe?” He calls out, his smile still present as he walks into their bedroom, sliding the scarf easily from his smooth, warm neck.

When he enters the room, though, there’s no one. And no one answers him when he yells Zayn’s name. He looks in the living room, just a glance, and out on the balcony, but he’s not there. Zayn’s left again, without leaving a note, or calling and leaving a voicemail.

Louis tries to hold it in; tries to remind himself that he’ll be back, and it’ll be fine, because Zayn loves him. He does. He even said it, just this morning. Zayn will come home by midnight, and he’ll say he loves him and that he’s sorry, and it’ll all be better. Louis’ positive of it.

 

—

 

Louis tries not to think about anything as he watches the television, eating out of a pan (in which he cooked a healthy box of Kraft mac and cheese) with a large wooden spoon, and letting himself be absorbed by the sofa that seems so much bigger an ominous when he’s home alone.

It’s almost nine o’clock when Zayn gets back, which isn’t that bad, compared to other nights when he gets home around three or four, and Louis can smell the alcohol on him before he even steps through the threshold.

He doesn’t look at him. Louis’ not sure he could without screaming or crying or even vomiting. This is what Zayn does to him. He pulls him in, gives him hope he knows he shouldn’t have, and then crushes him without intentionally doing anything.

“Look who’s heeeere!” Zayn says happily as he walks through their apartment, gleaming at Louis. “Bet you missed me,” he laughs, falling into the seat next to Louis.

Louis doesn’t answer, just stares at the marathon of The O.C. on the tv.

“What?” Zayn looks at Louis fiercely, “What did I do this time?”

“Nothing,” Louis sighs, aggravated, “that’s what. Go to bed. You’re drunk.”

“You’re angry because I’m drunk?” Zayn sighs, his tone more tired than angry. Louis wants to keep it that way.

“No,” he finally looks up at him, “go to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Zayn stands up from the sofa, giving Louis a mix of a sneer and a pout, eyes narrowed but lips pouted out like a disobedient child. “You are angry,” he murmurs lowly.

Louis sighs, growing tired of this and just wanting Zayn to go to bed, because he really doesn’t want to deal with this, and he opens his mouth to say that, fine, he is a bit angry, but it’s not entirely Zayn’s fault, it’s his own, too. Before he can get an entire word out, though, Zayn huffs, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

“You’re so fucking dramatic,” Zayn grumbles, “should’ve known, though, since you’re a some kind of big-shot theatre director, now,” Zayn begins to turn away, “Whatever, you have no right to be angry, Lou.”

“I have every fucking right to be angry!” He doesn’t mean to blow up, he really doesn’t, but then Zayn is glaring at him and pushing him back down onto the sofa and Louis really regrets saying anything at all.

“Then why don’t you leave, Lou? If this is so goddamn hard?” Zayn’s face is a shade of tan with undertones of red, his blood pumping as his voice raises.

Louis doesn’t know how to answer. He loves Zayn, but that’s the only thing keeping him there. He wants Zayn to love him, needs him to, because there’s no one else. His mother doesn’t need a whiny son crawling back to her, pleading for her help. And he’ll be damned if he gets to that level of despair. He’s got nothing else, no one but Zayn, but Zayn doesn’t even want him.

He figures that if Zayn were with someone else, he wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t go out and come home smashed, he wouldn’t fight with his significant other. This is Louis’ fault for not stopping him in the first place, for not helping him when he noticed the signs.

“Because I can’t – I can’t just leave you,” Louis says through a dry sob. “Fuck, Zayn, please.”

Louis tries to stand up again, tries to touch Zayn and remind him that it’s okay, they’ll get through this, because that’s what he’s trying to tell himself, but Zayn shoves him away, screaming an outright distraught “Don’t touch me!” and then Louis’ on the floor, his hand pressed to his cheek as he sits in shock.

“Lou,” Zayn says, his voice impossibly softer now, “Lou, shit, are you okay? I didn’t mean to —”

“Get the fuck out,” Louis stutters out, feeling a small warmth trickle on his fingertips. When he doesn’t hear Zayn move, he screams, “Get the fuck out, Zayn!”

After a few seconds, Zayn’s footsteps slowly move away, and then the door opens and closes, leaving a cold, eerie atmosphere to swallow Louis up.

He stands, slowly but surely, and even though he fears what he might see in the mirror of his bathroom, he knows he’ll have to look at some point. What he sees is less than what he thought, though.

Only a scratch below his eye, barely a centimeter, where the edge of the coffee table hit, and a bruise already forming around his eye, a subtle but bright red settling in under his tan skin.

He goes to bed after making sure both the door and windows are locked, and he doesn’t bother to change out of his clothes, just lays down onto his mattress and cries himself to sleep, figuring there’s no better way to keep away the anxiousness that’s beginning to hook itself into him.

 

—

 

Harry stops Louis in the hallway the next day, and the touch that his fingers make on Louis’ arm shock him, and he attempts to hide his face underneath his fringe.

“Hey, you and Zayn wanna come over for dinner tonight?” He asks, and Louis almost — almost, god damn it — says no, but when he sees Harry’s hopeful expression, all of his willingness to decline is lost and he’s suddenly agreeing to it.

“But I think Zayn may have to, um, work, so,” Louis says sheepishly, but Harry tells him that that’s fine, more food for the two of them.

Zayn’s been gone since last night. Louis’ worried, though he knows he shouldn’t be. He wonders if Zayn will actually come back, or if he’ll just move on, pretend he’d never known a boy named Louis Tomlinson at all.

Louis finds himself in the corridor between their apartments at about six-thirty, hesitating to knock on the door but knowing he needs to. He wants to make friends. And he really likes Harry. Probably more than he should.

Zayn’s out. And Louis tries to be happy about it, to get rid of him, but he can’t help but feel a bit lost without him.

After another second of gathering willpower, Louis knocks his knuckles against the wood of Harry’s door, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

He hasn’t been to someone else’s home, a friend’s, in a long time. He wonders if Harry’s apartment is cluttered or clean, what the air smells like and what kind of atmosphere it gives off. He wonders if it’ll make him feel more at home than his own apartment.

Harry opens the door, a bright smile on his face and bits of some kind of sauce on his cheek, but he doesn’t seem to mind, the twat.

“Hey!” Harry says, looking so pleased to see Louis that Louis feels like he wants to envelop himself in Harry’s arms. “Come on in, I’m just finishing the chicken parm,” and the way he says it, so welcoming and natural, is almost the breaker for Louis, nearly the last straw before he starts to break down, but then he’s following Harry into his flat and forcing down the lump in his throat. And if Harry, with the way he looked at Louis, is ignoring the bruise and small cut, then Louis’ happy, because he’d rather not attempt to lie about it.

Harry’s flat is normal, which is unexpected. The only things that stand out are the boxes in the corner of his living room, which Louis guesses are the items Harry hasn’t unpacked yet. The walls have a few pictures on them, ones of people Louis doesn’t know but assumes Harry knows, and a small flat screen television hangs in the midst of them, displaying some HBO show. Louis should’ve known Harry likes HBO.

Harry’s in the kitchen when Louis finally looks over, and he’s wiping at his brow with the back of his hand, some Parmesan cheese sticking to his skin. The food smells delicious, and Louis thinks he can detect some kind of fruity scent, which he thinks fits Harry pretty well.

“Make yourself at home,” Harry grins at him, “and you can change the channel, if you want. I’m not really watching that.”

Instead of flipping through a million channels to find the right one, like Louis knows he would if he were actually at home, he just picks up the remote and turns it off, the screen going black. He slides into a chair at the island counter of Harry’s half-kitchen-half-dining room and proceeds to watch Harry place the two pieces of chicken onto a white plate, his fingers impossibly gentle and graceful.

There’s a tossed salad on the dining table already, drizzled over with some kind of brown and spiced dressing, two placemats, two glasses, two plates equally as shiny and white as the one Harry had placed the chicken on, and one bottle of red wine that looked more expensive than Louis’ whole outfit.

“Someone splurged for this,” Louis jeers as Harry washes his hands underneath the kitchen faucet.

Harry chuckles, “I figured Zayn’d be coming, so it wouldn’t seem so…”

“Seem so what?” Louis watches Harry’s careful hands untie the apron from around his waist, his shirt barely riding up against his stomach, but enough for Louis to get a flash of pleasure running through him.

“Date-y,” Harry laughs, running his nervous fingers through his curls.

“Mm,” Louis agrees, leaning back in his seat, “Are you just saying that?” He smirks playfully, “Were you secretly hoping Zayn wouldn’t come so you could make a move on me, Styles?” Louis widens his eyes at Harry innocently, “Are you attempting to seduce me, Harry?” He gasps, his palm coming up to cover his mouth.

Harry just rolls his eyes, pushing at Louis’ shoulder gently, and then goes back to whatever the hell he’s doing to the poor chicken he’s got slathered in cheese and some sort of yellow sauce.

“You’re a right caveman, you are,” Louis laughs, “tossing that poor chicken about like it’s some kind of toy.”

“Shush. This is how my mum always made it,” Harry tells him, “It’s her recipe. I’ve never made it before, so you’re gonna be my guinea pig.”

“Oh, lovely,” Louis laughs, watching Harry walk over to the table and set the white plate down in the middle of the arrangement.

“Don’t look so terrified,” Harry flashes a smile, “I’m an alright cook.”

Louis scoffs and Harry gives him a smirk, looking up at Louis through thick eyelashes, and Louis thinks he can see something in his eyes, something that makes a flicker of a feeling startle inside of him, but then it’s gone, and they’re sitting across from each other at the table.

That’s how the rest of the night goes; playful and quiet and happy. It’s been a while since Louis’ felt so good, and he’s thankful that he’s found someone who knows how to make him smile like he used to.

He leaves with a sense of sadness that night, even before he closes the door. Harry is standing in the doorway, smiling at Louis like he’s the best thing the world’s ever seen, but Louis feels the weight of reality, beyond Harry’s flat, crashing down on him.

“We should do this again.” Harry suggests, “Maybe Zayn’ll be able to make it next time.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Louis tells him, and then they say goodnight and he’s back in his flat, where all of the lights are off and no one seems to be home.

Of course, Louis’ not sure if it’s really his home anymore. Because he felt so much better in Harry’s flat, someone else’s home, than his own. And he thinks that may be a problem.

 

—

 

Zayn still isn’t home by the time Louis’ next rehearsal comes around.

Louis knows he shouldn’t be worried, he should be glad that Zayn’s gone. He should be happy that his abusive, junkie boyfriend is out of his life, but he isn’t. He misses him and he’s worried and the place next to him on their bed is continuing to become colder every night Zayn isn’t there.

When Louis walks into the large studio, he can see only a few actors there, crowded and giggling over something indistinct, and he sets his shoulder bag into a seat, grasping his script in one hand. He glances around, recounting the names in his head of each actor, making sure each of the ones who were supposed to show up actually did. Satisfied with the attendance, Louis jumps up onto the stage and claps his hands for the attention of each actor.

He tells them that they’ll be starting with the second act, as they have a lot more problem-spots in several scenes in that act, and then they start as soon as everyone is in their beginning places and Louis is settled into a chair in the back of the studio.

The rehearsal goes well – as much as it can when it’s three weeks until the show and Louis is stressed about a number of things, as well as the actors – even though there are several mishaps and most of the actors forget at least four of their lines. By the time they make it to the end of the act, Louis is rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. He waits until all of his actors are on their way back to their homes before he actually starts to pack his things into his satchel. 

He’s about to leave when Liam, his set director, walks in and scares the living shit out of him.

Louis is a millisecond away from turning off the lights, his back to the door, when Liam speaks.

“Louis?” 

With a yelp, Louis clutches at his chest, and then sees Liam’s face in the mirror, his body relaxing. 

“Jesus Christ, Liam,” Louis clears his throat, running a nervous hand through his hair. “Learn to warn a guy.”

“Sorry,” Liam apologizes, stepping forward into the studio, “I just needed to ask you a question about the set pieces?” Louis nods for Liam to go on. “Well, since we’re low on staff, the larger pieces still have to be painted, and the two smaller pieces are good to go, except we’re not sure we’ll have enough running crew to get them on and off stage on time?” Liam purses his lips, clearly unsure, and Louis tries not to show how absolutely tired of all of this he is – how he wishes something would just go right for once. “So, I just wanted to ask, if, maybe, you wanted me to schedule more dates for the crew to get together to finish the set? And, um, is it possible for a part of the cast to help out?”

Louis nods exaggeratedly, clutching onto the strap of his satchel tightly. He feels like everything is about ready to overflow from his fingertips; from his toes and knees and every orifice that he has on his body. 

“Yeah, yes, I’ll text all of them if you’ll come up with dates that work for your crew,” Louis fidgets, popping his knuckles impulsively, even though he’s already popped them twice in the last five minutes. 

“Okay, yeah,” Liam gives Louis a small smile, like he knows how stressful this all must be for Louis, and he appreciates it, Louis really does, but all Louis wants to do right now is go home and drink all of this away. “That works. I’ll text you,” and then Liam is waving timidly and leaving Louis to the empty studio.

“Have a good night, Liam,” Louis sighs, finally flipping the light switch, ready to make his way back to his flat.

The bus ride back is quiet. It makes Louis twitchy, it makes him feel a need to reach out and scratch something, to make anything feel the way he does. Listening to the music that blares through tinny speakers is all he can do to keep from yelling out in frustration. 

He’s sure Zayn is still gone. He doesn’t know where he is, and that in itself makes him feel a sickness in his stomach; a kind of worry that he’s only ever felt once before when he’d lost his little sister, Lottie, in the middle of a supermarket. He tries to not imagine him all alone, under a bridge or in some abandoned warehouse, all on his own, drugged up and scared and, fuck, it makes Louis feel like he should do something, but there’s absolutely nothing he can do, and it’s driving him crazy.

And then there’s Harry. He’s been on Louis’ mind for the better half of a week. His smile and his dimples and the way the hair by his cheeks curl around and frame his face. Harry’s eyes, and the way they look at him like he’s the only thing in Harry’s world, even though they only met a little more than two weeks ago. His voice and his lips and his skin and hands and the way he smells. It’s all embedded into Louis’ memory and he can’t get away from it.

Louis squeezes his eyes closed defiantly, grinding his teeth together, when the bus stops, brakes screeching at him, and he realizes it’s his stop.

He sprints up the steps to the lift when he gets into the building, only to then change his mind because he can’t stay still anymore, he has to get up to his flat as fast he can, fuck the elevator and the thirty seconds he’d have to wait to get into it, and then the extra two minutes it would take to stop on the other floors, and fuck the creaks it’d make as it would slow to a stop on his floor. 

Louis just needs something to drink.

His hands shake as he fumbles for his key, jangling them and when he finally gets the key into the lock, it won’t unlock the door. He knows this building is faulty, but he’s still agitated and completely over everything, so he bangs on the door, loudly groaning out a sad, surrendering sound. 

After a moment, the door opens. Louis flinches, looking up from the horribly outdated carpet, and his eyes meet with Harry’s.

Taking a glance around, he realizes that he’d been attempting to unlock Harry’s apartment instead of his own.

“Fuck,” Louis nearly sobs, “I’m sorry, I thought I was trying to – I thought this was my flat and I didn’t –,” he puts his face in his hands. “I’ve had the worst day, I’m so sorry.” 

Before he turns to his own flat, he looks up at Harry, who looks like he was just about to get into the shower, with just his boxers on and a surprised, but worried, look on his face. All of the anxiousness he’d been warding off on the sprint up to his flat is flooding back, along with a need to rip off his own clothes and press up against Harry with a desperation Louis’ never known.

Harry opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then retracts himself, watching Louis intently, like he can practically see inside of his soul. Harry’s eyes are going to be the death of him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry asks, then, soft and intimate, and Louis can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“No,” he answers, the word fading from his lips, and then he’s nearly attacking Harry, standing on his toes to press his mouth to Harry’s.

Harry’s hands are on his waist, holding him close, and Louis knows his bag is in the way, just like all of the stupid layers he’s got on, and he needs to get them off, but the kiss stays slow, a sweetness between them that makes a light shiver ripple down his spine.

Louis guides them back into Harry’s flat and Harry obliges, bringing him in and closing the door and locking it, all while keeping Louis so close to him that he can’t even remember what he was worried about in the first place.

Louis rids himself of his bag while slipping off his shoes, only breaking away from Harry’s lips to breathe and remove his shirt. Their chests press together and Louis doesn’t even know which room they’re in, but there’s a lamp and some chairs and that’s all he registers before Harry has his attention again, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. 

They’re both down to their pants when Harry stumbles back onto his bed, pulling Louis on top of him with a quiet ‘oof’. Louis takes a small moment, before attacking Harry’s lips with his own, to look at Harry, and he can’t help the unbelieving smile that spreads across his mouth. He doesn’t know why he’s smiling, and the reasoning is something he doesn’t want to think about quite at this moment, so he doesn’t, and he kisses Harry again, until Harry is breathing heavy and moaning at the back of his throat.

Harry’s fingers are like something that Louis has never known, he soon realizes when he’s pressed back into the mattress, legs spread open and his hips moving on their own accord. He’s yearning for more, head tossed back and words leaving his mouth that he’s pretty sure aren’t a part of the English language. Harry is kissing him; his neck and his chest and his hips and every inch of skin that Louis’ never loved and never asked anyone to love. Harry just kisses him, he presses his mouth to every part of him like it’s the only thing he ever wants to do, and it makes Louis’ heart feel like it’s about to burst.

When they’re pieced together like a puzzle, Louis grips onto Harry’s back, dull fingernails pressing into the soft skin there, and listens to the soft moaning that leaves Harry’s lips. 

Harry whispers Louis’ name as he presses his mouth to his neck and jaw and it’s the most intimate sound that Louis’ ever heard, each syllable like a note in some kind of forbidden melody. Louis holds Harry tighter, needing him closer, and for a moment he begins to think he’s going to be swallowed up by the feelings that are practically oozing from him. 

Louis whimpers Harry’s name into his hair when he comes, the full feeling of Harry inside of him and the slow pull of his hips pushing him over the edge, and then he can feel Harry’s hips pumping erratically before he’s collapsed on Louis’ chest, his own heaving from the deep breaths he takes.

It’s quiet for a few moments, just the sounds of their labored breathing reverberating off of Harry’s bedroom walls, until Harry slips out of him, only to gingerly remove the condom and throw it away before tugging Louis close and pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his lips.

Neither of them says anything as Louis cuddles into Harry, his arms around Harry’s middle and Harry’s arms settling over him. Instead, they lay quietly, the feeling of one another next to each other somehow comforting, and slowly drift into sleep with the sound of their identical heartbeats.

 

\--

 

The next morning, Louis wakes up to the shrill ringing of his phone — which is still in the back pocket of his jeans. He groans as he rolls over Harry and grasps for the pair of jeans so he can pull out his cell. A number he doesn’t recognize is on the screen.

"Hullo?" His voice is scratchy as he speaks.

"Is this Louis Tomlinson?" An unfamiliar voice asks him, gruff and hearty.

"Er, yes," Louis answers, a bit unsure whether he should actually be honest.

"Mr. Tomlinson, your friend Zayn Malik is in the hospital. A couple of officers found him behind a diner on 4th street; they believe he was under the influence of a hallucinogenic and it caused an overdose," the nurse pauses and a rustling sound echoes through the receiver, "You were listed as his emergency contact." There’s another pause, and Louis feels like he should say something but there are no words that are coming to his mind. He knew this would happen. He knew. And now he’s in another boy’s bed while Zayn is in the fucking hospital from some kind of overdose.

"Mr. Tomlinson? Are you there?" The nurse says, his voice too loud.

Louis stutters, his hands shaking, “Ye — yeah, I’m still here. I — is he okay?”

"I’ve no idea, but the doctors don’t think it’s too serious," the nurse answers kindly, "Our visiting hours are from seven to ten, but since you’re not family, I don’t know if you’ll be able to see him right away."

"I’m his boyfriend," Louis retorts, finally clambering up on Harry’s bed and clutching his fist tight so it’ll stop trembling, "isn’t that enough?"

"I’m not sure, Mr. Tomlinson, I’d have to ask the heads of the department," the nurse says, sounding apologetic.

"Right," Louis grits through his teeth, “I’ll… I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you.”

He hangs up before the nurse has a chance to say goodbye and sits in the light that’s pouring in from Harry’s bedroom window, barely shaded from the white sheer curtains. 

“Everything okay?” Louis flinches, glancing to his side where Harry is resting on his elbows, looking up at him with his eyebrows furrowed.

It takes a second to process, but then he realizes he’s crying and there are warm, full tears running down his cheeks and he’s not entirely sure how that happened. As Harry sits up next to him, a gentle hand resting on Louis’ thigh, Louis swiftly pushes him away and shakes his head desperately. 

“No, Harry, st-stop,” he chokes, squeezing his eyes closed to attempt to stop anymore tears from falling. “This is – I shouldn’t have… Fuck, Zayn is in the hospital and it’s my fault.”

“What?” Harry’s voice sounds so genuine, so worried for Zayn like he knows him, like he has a right to be so considerate, and Louis hates him for it. “He’s – what happened?”

“The nurse said it was an overd-dose,” Louis’ hand is trembling and he clutches it in his other, but it doesn’t stop the bubbling fear that’s growing in his stomach. “He could’ve died and I wasn’t there, I t-told him to leave and I shouldn’t have – fuck,” Louis groans, clenching one hand into a fist, “I should’ve – I could’ve helped h-him and I didn’t –“

“Louis,” Harry says, firm and gentle at the same time, “No. Don’t say that. This isn’t…” Harry shakes his head, reaching forward the grasp Louis’ hand and only holding it tighter when Louis tries to pull away. He cups Louis’ cheek with the other, making Louis look at him, and his eyes are set and determined when they meet. “Don’t blame yourself for this. I don’t know… I don’t know Zayn and I don’t know if this has happened before and I obviously don’t know what’s happened between you two, but don’t – don’t you dare put this on yourself.”

The fierceness in Harry’s voice doesn’t match the sincerity in his eyes, and Louis’ not sure how Harry can even affect him like this; like he somehow knows him better than Louis knows himself and knows how to handle the things that make Louis so weak and tired. He’s captured by the feeling of Harry’s fingers on his own and on his cheek, keeping him grounded and steady. The piercing feeling from the night before is gone, leaving just the shell of himself left that he’s grown so used to living in, but there’s something inside of him that’s warm and glowing, like a flame that’s started flicker again, and Louis knows he shouldn’t believe it, but he realizes that there’s something in Harry that makes Louis feel alive again. Something that brings out the bright flame that he used to be.

With a solemn nod, Louis squeezes Harry’s hand tight, trying to keep his breathing straight. As he feels the panic inside of him begin to subside, Louis lets go of Harry and retreats to the edge of the bed, reaching onto the floor for his pants and jeans. He slides them on with shaking hands, his chest aching, and hides a sniffle as he moves to grab his shirt and jacket. 

“Do you… Do you want someone to go with you?” Harry asks quietly, his voice so much less assertive than before it makes Louis’ heart clench inside of his ribs.

“No, no,” Louis shakes his head, already walking out of the door to find where he’d dropped his bag, “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Once he’s got his satchel over his shoulder, he turns back to Harry, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat. Harry watches him carefully, his mouth set into an anxious frown, and Louis gives him a watery smile. “Really,” he takes a step back from the bedroom, “I’ll call you. Okay?” 

Harry doesn’t answer as Louis finally leaves the apartment, barely taking a glance at his own door before sprinting down the hallway to the elevator.

 

\--

 

Zayn wakes up from a medically induced coma within a four or five hours after Louis showed up (and made a rather large deal about how it was ridiculous that he may have not been able to see his own boyfriend). His mind is fuzzy, and he doesn’t quite understand what happened at first. Once Louis explains to him that the police had taken him in, Zayn seems to practically deflate in on himself.

(“I never meant for it to get this bad,” he’d murmured into Louis’ shirt after crying for a good twenty minutes. “Fuck, Lou, I’m so sorry.” Louis had held onto Zayn’s hand, kissing the top of his head, even with the horrible swirl of guilt and anxiousness he felt inside of him.)

Louis helps Zayn check himself into the rehabilitation center at the hospital. He brings in Zayn’s things with him and settles him into a room, giving his best imitation of himself, but Zayn watches him with caution as Louis perches himself on the edge of Zayn’s temporary bed.

“Something’s wrong,” Zayn says, quiet and knowing. 

“What?” Louis laughs once, humorless, and shakes his head, “Nothing’s wrong. You’re alright and you’re getting better and I’m alright; what’s there to be wrong?” He can feel Zayn’s eyes on him but he refuses to meet them with his own.

A silence washes over them and Louis wants to crawl out of his own skin, he feels so utterly horrible sitting next to Zayn after what he’s done – and after what they’ve been through.

“Is it Harry?”

The question takes Louis by surprise; he snaps his head up, finally meeting Zayn’s eyes – eyes that are so close to what Louis remembers them always being that it makes Louis stop breathing for a small moment. 

“Wh—,” Louis starts, but Zayn interrupts, giving him a sad smile.

“It’s okay,” Zayn purses his lips, shrugging a shoulder, “I kind of… I figured. When I met him that morning.” He doesn’t look at Louis, keeping his eyes trained on the cold, linoleum floor. “I’m surprised, though. That you haven’t left me before this.”

“I’m not leaving y—,” Louis begins, only to be stopped once more.

“Yes, you are,” Zayn laughs humorlessly, “Louis, you – you deserve better than this. Better than me.” Zayn finally looks up at him, “You’ve deserved better all these years and I never let you leave me because I was selfish. I manipulated you and I’m – fuck, Lou, I’m so sorry. I made you believe that you needed me as much as…” he scoffs bitterly, “As much as I need you.”

“Zayn, I’m not going to leave you, you’re my best friend,” Louis begs helplessly.

Zayn nods once, slowly, “And I’ll always be your best friend.” He sighs heavily, wringing his fingers together in his lap, “But I’m not healthy, Lou. I can’t even take care of myself right now – how am I supposed to be able to have a relationship?” He furrows his eyebrows, “I can’t do that to you.”

“Relationships have to go through phases and shit, I dunno, this is normal, we just have to get through it,” Louis says, but as soon as the words leave his lips, he realizes how utterly meaningless they are to him. He doesn’t feel the same way towards Zayn as he once did, and he knows Zayn doesn’t feel it either. The magic that was once theirs has somehow dissipated and left some kind of carcass behind that only holds two broken men with nowhere to go.

“This isn’t normal, Louis, and you know that,” Zayn mutters, the withdrawal making Zayn’s hands continuously fidget. “And you’re not happy. Neither of us are, clearly,” he clenches one hand into a balled fist before it relaxes again, “but I could see the way you were looking at him, babe.” Louis’ stomach jumps at the small name as Zayn chances a glance at Louis, sadness in the deep brown that fills his irises, “I know that I’ve been horrible. I can’t apologize enough for what I’ve done to you,” wetness begins to fill Zayn’s eyes, the edges becoming red and irritated, “so I’m making you leave me. I need you to give yourself a chance with someone else. Someone who can – can make you happy.” 

Louis reaches to pull Zayn into an embrace as soon as sobs wrack through the both of them, and they’re clutching onto each other as the realization that this – them, ZaynandLouis, the unstoppable team – is over. 

 

\--

 

Three weeks pass and Louis has yet to call Harry.

He knows he should. He wants to, he really does, but he’s not sure Harry won’t be incredibly angry with him for ignoring him.

On the night of his play, he’s sat in the back of the audience, waiting for Liam to flash the house lights, with Zayn by his side.

"You didn’t have to come," Louis says to him as he continues to stare ahead, more nervous than he anticipated to be.

"Yeah, I did," Zayn argues with a gentle smile, and Louis can’t help but feel a bubble of hope inside of him that reminds him of the old Zayn. His Zayn.

"Thanks," Louis whispers, shuffling his feet and tapping his fingers incessantly.

The lights flash, and even though Louis is anxious for the reaction his play will receive, he’s incredibly excited. For all the years he’s been working on this, to get to this point, he’s finally here. He’s in a major performance space, and his name is written in big black letters on the huge sign out front, right under the play he’s been referring to as his own child for three years. Everything has gone as according to plan as it could’ve, and no one got hurt or died (though, really, he may have cut it a bit close these past few dress rehearsals).

As the lights go down completely, for a split moment, Louis thinks he sees a mess of curls sitting in the front row of the audience, but then the darkness overpowers his vision and all he can focus on is the stage.

 

—

 

"Tommo! Tommo! Tommo!"

Louis puts his face in his hands as he flushes, the crowd of actors and crew hoarding around him and shouting his name. The lot of them are practically moving as one down the pavement towards one of the local pubs.

“Lads, please!” Louis squawks, laughing heartily as they pile into the pub on the corner, its lights creating a dim glow in the windows. “Don’t make a scene, for god’s sake,” he smirks, running a dramatic hand through his hair, causing the crowd to chuckle and shove him playfully. 

“First round of drinks is on me,” Louis hears Liam call out to the lot of them, and cheers surround him, echoes of ‘I’m buying the most expensive goddamn drink here’ and ‘Aw, Liam!’ 

Louis shuffles forward to Liam as swarms of girls and boys move toward the bar, giving him a warm smile. “That’s awfully kind of you,” Louis raises an eyebrow.

Liam shrugs, a bright grin spreading across his face to match the tint of pink painted on his cheeks – he’s been that way since the end of the show, when they’d gotten a standing ovation. 

The show went incredibly well; there were, surprisingly, no malfunctions with wardrobe, everyone remembered their lines, and the acting wasn’t too shabby either. Louis knows he can only really thank the people who’d been there through it all with him, his cast and crew had been absolutely amazing throughout the whole process, and he told them so when they’d gathered together to leave, after the place had been rid of all of the audience. 

Zayn had told Louis how proud he was of him – and Louis swears he could see tears in his eyes – and gave him the longest hug they’d shared in what felt like forever. He promised Louis he’d make it back to the rehab center safely, and swiftly left after a quick congratulations to the cast and crew.

Louis makes his way to the bar once the majority of the crowd dissipates, and when he leans over the edge to tell the bartender his order (“Just a Heineken, thanks”) a slow guitar riff crackles through a set of speakers that are set up on a stage Louis had only just notices.

He sees a girl with dark blue hair settle behind a set of drums, her white and black polka dot dress matching the large bow in her hair, and a boy with highlighted blonde hair tripping over a set of wires on the left side of the stage, holding his guitar close to his chest (Louis guesses he’s the one who had just played the talented riff through the tinny speakers). Another girl steps onto the stage from the right, a bass in hand, and she’s got dark skin and eyes that seem as though they could practically pierce through the next person she looks at. Then, as Louis grips the green bottle that’s set in front of him, he sees Harry walks out to take center stage.

“Fuck,” he says unintentionally, a few of the actors around him giving him curious glances, but Louis just moves forward in the crowd, closer to the stage. He sits down at a table where Liam and Jesy, his Props Mistress, are sat at, and watches as Harry easily looks into the crowd, giving them a warm greeting.

“Hello, everybody,” he grins as he waves toward the large group of people, and a chorus of ‘hello’s shoot back at him, “We’re The Mainlanders and we’re gonna play some music.”

Louis barely hears the music over Harry when he sings. It’s as if fate has brought Harry to him so that Harry can murder him. With his voice. Louis’ definitely sure of that once they get to the bridge of their third song, when Harry hits a note that’s so high-pitched and rounded it makes Louis feel as though he’s going to come in his pants right then and there. Jesy even leans forward to ask if Louis’ feeling alright, because he looks as though he’s just drank a whole bottle of hot sauce. 

For a moment, Louis wonders what the chances are that they’d be at the same place tonight, and then he remembers the curly mop of hair he’d seen in the front row of the play. Did Harry follow them there? No, he’d have to have dragged the whole band with them. He’s obviously psychic, Louis thinks to himself, but his thoughts are interrupted when Harry suddenly looks at him for the first time since he’d sat down. Granted, he’s sat near the back and there isn’t much lighting where he’s at, but it still strikes some kind of chord in him that has him smiling at Harry shyly and mouthing a small ‘Hi.’

As the song ends, Harry clutches onto the microphone and motions for the other three to hold off on starting the next chords. He whispers something to them, which has the blue-haired girl grinning from ear to ear and the blonde boy giving Harry a proud smack on the bottom, then he turns back to the crowd with a golden smile. 

“This next song is dedicated to Louis Tomlinson, whose show tonight was amazing,” a giant, drunken whoop from the group of people at the bar erupts, and Harry lets them settle before speaking again, “Hope you like it.” Louis isn’t sure whether Harry is talking to him or the crowd as a whole, but before he can make up his mind which, a steady beat rolls out from the large speakers.

 

\--

 

Louis wakes up the next morning feeling as though the world as finally tilted itself back into place. Sunlight is peeking through his window and he can hear birds and cars outside, people living their lives just like they always do. 

He rolls over to grab his phone from the nightstand and sees he has a text from none other than Loverboy himself. A steady smile displays on his lips as his stomach flips, his fingers nimbly sliding the message over to view. 

_The show really was amazing. I’m glad I got to see it .x_

Pursing his lips, Louis replies with slightly trembling fingers.

_i’m glad you got to see it , too. your show wasn’t half bad either ;) x_

He begins to set his phone to the side, but then scoffs before typing a second reply.

_and thanks for the song. i loved it xxx_

Louis sits with his phone clutched to his chest for what feels like an eternity, torturously waiting for Harry’s response, when the sound of knocking on the front door rattles through the flat.

In just his pants and ragged white t-shirt, Louis jumps to his feet and races to the door to open it to exactly who he’d been expecting.

“Hi,” he breathes, grinning so wide it hurts his cheeks.

“Howdy, neighbor,” Harry answers, his own clothing items as scantily clad as Louis – nothing but a pair of heart-patterned boxer briefs. He’s leaning against the door frame with a twinkle in his eye, his arms carefully crossed across his tattooed chest. “I was wondering if I could, maybe, borrow some sugar?”

Louis raises an eyebrow at Harry, placing on hand on his hip as he stares at the half-naked boy in his doorway. “That’s your line? ‘Can I borrow some sug—‘,”

Harry cuts Louis off with a soft kiss to his lips, their mouths lingering for a moment before Harry backs away only enough to part their lips.

“Caveman,” Louis mutters, his voice too quiet to be annoyed, and Harry smiles, wide and proud.

“Zayn talked to me last night,” Harry tells him, leaning far enough away to meet Louis’ eyes with his own. Louis waits for the punchline of this, like Zayn talking to Harry is a joke, but Harry continues on, no hint of farce in his tone. “He told me that things with the two of you haven’t been exactly alright recently, and that you both decided it was better to be friends.”

Louis’ eyebrows raise to his hairline, “Zayn actually spoke with you?”

Harry nods, an earnest, child-like seriousness in his eyes, “And he also said that… that I’d be good for you.” He blinks, like some kind of toddler that’s just been yelled at, and watches Louis for a reaction, “I’m not sure if I should really trust what your ex-boyfriend thinks about me, but,” Harry bites his lip, “I thought I’d ask, anyways, if you maybe – erm, maybe wanted to go out sometime? Like, tonight? Or tomorrow. Or whenever is best, actually. I’ll just have to let the guys know if I have to skip out on practice—,”

“Yes,” Louis scoffs, leaning forward to peck his lips gently, “idiot.”

Louis’ not sure where all of this is going, or if all of this has happened for a reason that he still can’t place his finger on. He isn’t sure if Harry is big enough to fill the hole in his heart, though he has a good feeling that he might be just the right size. And he’s definitely not sure if the ache he’d grown so accustomed to will subside, but as he settles into the warmth of Harry’s embrace, he thinks that, maybe, he can’t feel it anymore.

\---

_fin._


End file.
